Curses and Friends
by Liana Legaspi
Summary: Or, "Six Times Percy Refused Help and the One Time He Didn't." Ever since Tartarus, Percy's kind of had trouble relying on anyone but himself. Chapter 1: Jason and Piper. Chapter 2: Frank and Hazel. Chapter 3: Leo and Annabeth. Chapter 4: Percy.
1. Jason and Piper

**Jason**

Jason prided himself on being a good friend.

In fact, he used to consider it one of his better qualities. Jason was the kind of guy you could talk to whenever or wherever (in Reyna's case, on Mount Othrys during the siege). The type who always had everyone's back (even if Nico _did_ tell him to go away most of the time.) The friend who didn't mind sticking out his neck for everyone else.

Yeah, Jason kind of messed up his "best-est friend in the whole wide world" image when he abandoned his Roman side for the Greeks, but you know, compared to all the other bad stuff he _could've_ been doing, this wasn't, like, _that _bad. (At least, that's what e tried to tell himself.)

Point is, Jason was one hell of a friend.

So, when Percy walked up to him after breakfast, Riptide drawn (or uncapped?), asking Jason to spar with him, the son of Jupiter wasn't so sure if he should accept. _Typically_, Jason would jump at the chance to train with him.

Not to overshadow the rest of the Seven's talents, but when it came to fighting, Percy was the biggest challenge. The one who actually made Jason break a sweat. (Annabeth too, but when it came down to it, she wouldn't exactly hold back from kneeing his soft-spot. Percy, on the other hand, was a little more merciful about that sort of thing.)

They were an even match. Jason was strong and strategic while Percy was more on the agile side and had more of a knack for improvising than actual planning. Their different styles kept them on their toes. And while Jason had the upper hand because of his ability to fly, Percy was just a _shade_ more in tune with his powers than the son of Jupiter was.

In short, Jason enjoyed sparring with Percy. He seriously did, but this time, well…

Jason knew that his cousin could hold his own. No question there. Percy'd beaten Jason more times than anyone else had and his unpredictability made him a challenge, but for the moment, Percy looked a little worse for wear. A little post-Tartaus. His hair was wilder than usual. He still had a couple pounds more to gain back, and Percy probably thought he was being subtle, but there were times when Jason caught him wincing and rubbing the sides of his ribs.

And the most unsettling change of all, ever since closing the Doors, Percy had this unhinged, beaten sort of gleam to his eyes that just wouldn't fade no matter how much ambrosia Piper and Hazel crammed down his throat.

Yeah, Jason was a little worried. _Still_, he thought wearily, eyeing the way Percy stood by and twirled Riptide in lazy circles, _I doubt he'll take no for an answer_.

Don't get him wrong, Percy—thank gods—wasn't a son of Mars, and he probably wouldn't take it too personally if Jason turned him down, just this once. But then Percy'd most likely resort to doing a one on four (not including Annabeth because once again, the whole kneeing thing…) against the rest of the crew, and Jason could think of a million ways that could—no, _would_ go wrong.

(Leo'd wind up burning down the Argo, and if _that _didn't happen, Piper could end up flooding the ship with food via cornucopia. Frank would possibly shift into something over the top on accident. Hazel was in danger of getting caught in all the crossfire. And to top it all off, Coach Hedge would be furious that he wasn't a part of it.)

Jason furrowed his brow, fingering the hilt of his gladius. "You sure you want to?"

Percy shrugged. "Why not?"

_Because you should actually be taking a nap, trying to recover. Because your girlfriend kind of scares me sometimes, and if I accidentally hurt you—because let's face it, you're not exactly in the best shape right now—she'll hurt me. Because, Percy, you just got out of Tartarus. Because you need to just take a break. Because there'll be plenty of other opportunities to fight._

Jason smiled a little half-heartedly and drew his sword, rising to his feet. "No reason," he lied, taking his place a few steps away from the son of Poseidon. He readied his blade and met his cousin's eyes dead-on.

Percy must've been on edge lately or at the very least, looking for some action, because he didn't even bother circling Jason this time. He just lunged for a quick swipe at the younger boy's midsection, and Jason was _almost_ caught off guard by it. Even _if_ Percy wasn't a huge fan of the whole "planning" thing, he always made a point of sizing up his opponent. Always.

On reflex, Jason caught the blow, but just as quickly, Percy slipped his blade underneath Jason's, forcing him into taking a step back. Percy took the opportunity to catch him off guard by going for a headshot, but Jason caught it again and used the momentum to shove the other boy away.

Jason resisted the urge to swing. Percy's guard was down on his left side, and yeah, normally Jason would just go for it, knowing full well the son of Poseidon would get out of the way in time or just parry it, but now wasn't like all the other times they'd fought. This time, he'd only be playing defense.

Jason gripped his sword a little tighter and waited. Slice after slice, lunge after lunge, stab after stab, Jason blocked, parried, and dodged most of Percy's attacks, all the while resisting the instinct to fight back.

It was harder than it sounded. To just stand there and take it while he'd been trained his entire life to conquer, to defeat. But, somehow, Jason managed. Beads of sweat formed on his brow and he was getting tired, but still he _refused_ to fight back. He just sucked it up and ducked when Percy thrusted.

But one could only keep it up for so long. When it got to the point of exhaustion where even _Julia_ from New Rome could disarm him, Percy stopped and, fixing Jason with a hard look, drove Riptide into the grainy floor of the Argo so that it stood up on its own.

Jason blinked in surprise and wiped the sweat off his forehead, letting his guard down. "Something wrong?" he panted.

Sea green eyes narrowed at him. "Yeah, actually," Percy said, voice stiff. "I asked for a sparring partner, not a punching bag. This whole time you've just been blocking, dodging—you haven't even attacked once."

Jason winced a little, not that he wasn't completely expecting this reaction. Pluto, if someone decided he wasn't strong enough and didn't actually make an effort to fight back, he'd be pretty ticked too. But, you see, Percy actually _needed_ the special treatment.

He raised his hands in surrender. "Look, man, I know it sucks, but you're not—" He stopped himself before he could finish. No, that'd probably be that _last_ thing Percy would want to hear. Especially from him.

When Percy's jaw locked, and his face became unreadable, Jason internally cringed. "Not strong enough," he finished.

Jason looked down. Gods, he should've just turned him down from the start. "No," he said carefully, backtracking, "that's—that's not what I was going to say."

The look on Percy's face told him he didn't buy his lie for a second. The son of Poseidon jerked his sword out of the wood paneling and turned away. "I don't need your pity, Jason," he said, voice oddly detached sounding. "I can handle it. Pity—" The word caught in his throat, and he swallowed. "That's the last thing I need."

Jason, sweating and still panting, watched his cousin walk away, a funny feeling settling in his gut, and he wondered—really wondered—what exactly happened in Tartarus?

(He swore he heard Percy mutter under his breath, "I got this.")

* * *

**Piper**

In her defense, Piper thought she was helping.

Usually, if a friend was sick or injured you generally tried to do everything in your power to make it easier on them. For a normal person in a normal situation, it'd probably go something like this: do extra chores, help carry various items, help with homework, bake cupcakes with little "GET WELL SOON" decorations, etc.

But in the life-threatening, danger ensuing rollercoaster that was now Piper's (very, very sad) life, she couldn't really do any of that. First off, the closest thing to a chore Percy had was defending the _Argo II_ from sea monsters and unless a bunch of rogue sea nymphs just so happened to have an irrational fear of birthday cakes, Piper couldn't see her or the cornucopia helping with that any time soon. So that was kind of a bust.

Secondly, whatever Percy carried, he carried for a reason, a.k.a because no one else (save for Jason and maybe Frank) was strong enough to lift said—bulky, dangerous, sometimes pointy, possibly explosive—object. And third, Hazel already took her cupcake idea. (Dang it.)

Still, Piper tried to help him in whatever ways she could. Like letting him sleep in even though it was his turn to keep watch, holding doors open for him, making sure he didn't strain himself, always being there to lend a hand, etc. Jason and Frank thought it was nice of her, Leo teased her about it, Hazel sometimes helped her, and Annabeth—she was thoroughly amused.

In short, Piper was kind of smothering him. Don't get her wrong, she was just trying to help, she genuinely was. But then again, if she was really helping, Percy probably wouldn't have lashed out like he did.

Okay, so maybe "lashed out" is a little too strong of a phrase (maybe "got impatient" or "fed-up" would be more accurate), but at the time, that's what it felt like.

Obviously Percy was a powerhouse and pretty awesome with a sword, but honestly, after seeing him get milk mustaches and initiate a full-on prank war with Leo (worst week of Piper's life ever) and watching him trip over _air_, Piper kind of forgot just how dangerous the son of Poseidon actually was.

Eyes completely lacking their usual laughter, Percy's gaze bore right through her. "Stop it," he said, voice hollow and just so _not _Percy, Piper almost flinched.

She wrinkled her brow in confusion, hold on the door wavering. "Huh?"

"I said stop it," Percy repeated, waving his hand towards her.

A small smirk crept onto Piper's face, and she cocked her hip to the side. "What, stop holding open doors? Never knew you were so sexist, Percy," she said, nudging him with her foot playfully.

He wasn't laughing. Or, you know, looking generally amused and that struck a chord in Piper. The smile slid off her face and her shoulders dropped a little. "Per—"

"I _meant_," Percy stressed, green eyes serious, "stop treating me like I've got a handicap. Like I'm helpless, like—like I can't _do_ anything for myself anymore."

Piper faltered a little before scoffing and rolling her eyes. "I'm holding open a door, Percy. It's polite. You and I are friends. Friends hold open doors for each other," she pointed out.

Percy shook his head adamantly. "Cleaning my room, taking over my watch, making sure I eat—which I don't need any reminders for by the way, doing"—he made random gestures with his hands—"things like this." His eyes met hers fully. "It was never this way before Tartarus."

Piper's gaze dropped to her feet, and she wrinkled her forehead. "I'm just trying to help you, Percy."

"I get that," Percy said, voice softening a tad before hardening again, "but I don't need it. Just because I was in Tartarus, doesn't make me dependent. Not on anyone."

Piper looked up at him through her bangs. "Not on Annabeth?" she challenged.

For a moment, Percy didn't say anything, just watched her with a look she couldn't quite place, and she realized with a start, there were just some kinds of wounds that you just couldn't see _on _someone. (And, a lot of times, no amount of smothering could fix them.)

Her heart dropped to feet when he finally answered, "I've got this."

* * *

**(Yes, I know. The OOCness is making me cringe too.)  
**

**But as always, feel free to follow me and check out my other stories. Next up: Frank and Hazel.**


	2. Frank and Hazel

**Frank**

In spite of whatever anyone else might've said (a.k.a Leo), Frank hadn't been trying to put Percy down.

He hadn't been trying to question his abilities or offend him or make him feel like an invalid or fight his fights for him or _anything_—Frank sincerely respected the guy. Percy was his friend and even if it was for just a short time (like, two hours), his praetor. Sure, he was sarcastic and clueless, like, eighty percent of the time (that's being generous) and had a tendency to take a lot of things as not seriously as he _probably_ should've, but to be fair, not a lot of them did.

Ever since Percy used his powers to control the Tiber River and—oh, that's right, carry a _goddess_, he'd permanently earned a spot in Frank's books, and after that, Frank just felt more and more impressed by the son of Poseidon (actually volunteering to help Frank on his otherwise hopeless quest, supporting him, accepting Hazel for what she was, et cetera). Percy was the most hero-like demigod Frank had ever met, and he truly looked up to him.

Gods, even after his sudden, Mars-induced growth spurt, Frank _still_ looked up to him (even if they were almost eye-to-eye now and Percy wasn't actually praetor anymore, but whatever).

So no, Frank, honest-to-Jupiter, was not trying to do anything to make Percy upset. Or angry. Or worried—whatever you want to call it. Gods, all Frank was really trying to do was save him.

They were ambushed, surrounded on all sides, and just trying to fight through it all. Key word: trying. So basically, life was currently going really, really bad. For all them.

Leo was setting things—hopefully just monsters—on fire and even though Frank wasn't anywhere close to the son of Hephaestus, he still felt like he was warming up by a bonfire. Annabeth's grey eyes were narrowed into slits, and Frank swore he saw a couple telekhines and sphinxes hesitate. Piper and Hazel were slashing away at everything with pointy teeth and forked tongues, and Jason…well, Frank couldn't see him, but he'd bet anything that he was flying overhead, striking down monsters via lightning.

And then there was Percy Jackson, the son of Poseidon.

Not that he ever doubted him or anything, but watching him fight out of the corner of his eye, Frank could see him going toe-to-toe with his dad. Could picture him fighting Kronos. Basically, it was one of those moments Frank was really glad to have him on his side.

For a short, fleeting moment, things were honestly starting to look up. Suddenly that horde of blood-thirsty creatures who wanted to rip their lungs out didn't seem so bad, suddenly the ambush didn't seem so big, and Frank, in all grizzly bear glory, felt his heart soar.

Right up until he caught sight of a cheerleader.

Now not that Frank especially had anything against them or anything, despite their stereotype, they were generally pretty nice people, but that cheerleader made his blood go cold. Her eyes were blood red, legs mismatched (which must've made walking a pain), and face deformed, and she was _right_ behind Percy, fingers flexed like she was about to use her own nails to rip into the son of Poseidon's flesh. And said son of Poseidon didn't show any signs of moving.

So, with a roar, Frank dove in front of the _empousa_. Her claws tore through his skin, but even through the adrenaline, Frank knew it was only a minor wound. In one swift, powerful strike with his paw, she exploded into powdery, gold dust, her essence traveling all the way back down to Tartarus where it would stay, at least for a while (hopefully).

It was risky to change shape in the middle of a fight, and if it were any other time Frank probably would've nixed the idea, but he needed to see just how much damaged the _empousa's_ claws had done to him. There were rips in his shirt, the cloth around each of them was turning red, and the wounds _stung_, but overall, nothing some ambrosia and nectar couldn't fix.

When Frank turned around to check up on Percy, he wasn't expecting to get a hug or a _Oh my gods, you saved me_, and he didn't need or want one. But he definitely wasn't expecting to meet a pair of angry green eyes. (And Frank decided, yeah, Percy's death glare was kind of ominous.)

"What do you think you're doing?" Percy bit out, turning just in time to skewer a hellhound between the eyes. "You could've gotten yourself killed."

Frank blinked, distracted from his surroundings, and Percy had to snake his blade around the son of Mars to keep the Hyperborean Giant from frosting him. The son of Poseidon gave him a pointed look like, _Just 'cause I'm talking to you doesn't mean you need to stop fighting for your life _and turned his back to Frank, towards an oncoming dracanae.

While Percy grabbed the snake woman's own shield and used it to bash her head in, Frank stammered for words. "I—I thought, I mean, you didn't see her coming…"

He couldn't see his friend's face, but he realized it was the wrong thing to say when Percy's form tensed. Frank could just picture his eyes narrowing and darkening with that—_thing_ Frank couldn't place; a.k.a, too late to take it back and shove the words back down his throat.

Percy swung his arm back, effectively running a telekhine through the stomach without even bothering to glance back, whirling around to slice him through twice, making a cross pattern.

And Frank felt a little sick. Yeah, he'd always known Percy was a good fighter. After all he'd been at this since he was twelve and had been practicing with Annabeth even more than usual, but watching the telekhine slide down to his knees before bursting into dust, Frank couldn't help but think that _maybe_ Percy was getting a little…over the top. The telekhine was pretty much dead as soon as Riptide drove through it. There wasn't any need for more.

Not that violence was a bad thing in this case or anything (heck, Coach, Ares, and Mars all encouraged it), but at the same time, there was such a thing as "overkill."

"I had it, Frank," Percy said, voice hard.

It was the first time Percy had ever spoken to him like that, and the son of Mars _almost _took an involuntary half-step back.

"I saw her coming," Percy said, voice taking on a harder edge. His fingers curled tightly around his sword, and he looked back at him, jaw locking. "I didn't need you taking the hit for me, and I definitely didn't need you fighting my fights for me. Believe me when I say _I_—_had_—_it_."

Frank didn't even know how to respond.

* * *

**Hazel**

Hazel wasn't interesting in being strangled to death (or dying for that matter).

You might think that she was since, you know, she willingly hopped onto Leo's flying warship along with six other highly dangerous, possibly insane, most likely suicidal demigods with barely any self-preservation, but whatever. She was kind of having an off-day at the time—Nico was missing, Octavian was up to something, Leo…Leo looked _just_ like Sammy—she wasn't exactly thinking straight.

Yeah, close-death scenarios were becoming a new routine for her and all, but that didn't mean she was willing to keel over and slink back into the Underworld any time soon. Ergo, decapitation wasn't high on her to-do list that night.

Granted, Hazel kind of figured it was a pretty bad idea. You didn't need to be a child of Athena to realize that Percy wasn't up for cuddling and rainbow-themed bandaids—no, whatever Percy was going through, he made it pretty clear to all of them that he didn't want anyone to hold his hand for it. He didn't want anyone to help him.

Hazel wasn't completely surprised by that. Percy was a pretty easy-going guy, he started most group hugs, he treated all of them fairly, he was always willing to help or just listen to anyone who needed to talk. Percy was always there for his friends. Always.

But, when it came down to it, Hazel knew that he wouldn't want to _be_ helped. Call it pride, call it fear, but Percy just needed to know that he could still take care of himself. He needed to reassure himself that, no, Tartarus didn't break him.

And okay, so maybe Hazel still wanted to wrap him (and her brother for that matter) in a blanket and just _hug_ him, but she understood Percy. Where everyone else might've called it hiding or not dealing with the problem or in Leo's words, "pulling a Nico" (she smacked him for it), Hazel knew that this _was_ his way of coping.

He just…didn't want help. Their help.

Hazel was aware of that when she heard him thrashing in his room (not that she was listening or anything), and she _knew_ she should probably just leave him to deal with it on his own—like he wanted. But it was a nightmare.

It wasn't like fighting or opening a door. Those things he could do on his own, but a nightmare, well, sometimes you just couldn't beat them. In a demigod's case, you never did. When she opened his door, Percy was lying in his bed, shudders racking his frame, and eyes moving around frantically behind his eyelids. She was years younger than him (technically), but he just looked so _small_ for a moment, it broke her heart a little.

So Hazel woke him up.

And wound up two feet off the ground, ears ringing from being slammed against the wall too hard.

Hazel gasped and grabbed Percy's wrist, too afraid to even swallow because, well, there was a wickedly sharp, celestial bronze blade pressed against her throat. Percy's eyes looked glazed and tired like he wasn't completely awake yet but that didn't seem to make much of a difference on his reflexes anyways.

"Percy," she wheezed, digging her nails into his skin, trying to jog him out of whatever hellish dream he'd been living through. "It's me."

Sluggishly, Percy blinked the sleep out of his eyes, sea green eyes finally coming back into focus. When he realized it was Hazel he was strangling (and not, in fact, Medusa or an _empousa_ or a Cyclops—whatever he _thought_ she was), Percy instantly let go.

Hazel dropped to her knees on the floor, holding her neck and alternating between coughing and gasping for air. Yeah, this was not what she had planned for tonight, but in a way, it beat pacing around in her room, worrying about Nico and Reyna and the camps. (She decided then and there that if near-strangulation via semi-conscious friend was considered a "good" night, then she had issues.)

Above her, Percy sputtered out apologies that barely even made any sense and hovered over her like he wanted to help but didn't know how to. His eyes were wide with surprise and guilt and dark circles stood out against his skin, and Hazel couldn't find it in her heart to get angry at him.

She waved him off casually, like yeah, this was totally normal, keep walking (which it sort of was, but she tried not to dwell on it). But that did pretty much nothing to soothe Percy's nerves.

"Oh my gods," he said. "Hazel, I-I am so sorry. I don't even know…"

The daughter of Pluto brushed him off. "I'm fine," she reassured him for, like, the millionth time.

Percy gave her a once-over, like he didn't believe her for a second and was just seconds away from rushing her down to the infirmary. It was sweet—for him to worried like that. But at the same time, it made Hazel feel…unsettled.

That was another thing that had changed since Tartarus. Sure, Percy's always been kind of protective of everyone. Even the ones who he didn't know that well (during the Argo's raid—when Chrysaor looked at her and Piper like Christmas presents, Hazel swore she'd never seen anyone that angry, that defensive.)

Not that he even cursed all that much, but whenever she, Piper, or Frank were around, Percy would always try to tone it down a bit. And for the most part, he did his best to make sure Leo had a knife on him at all times because fire didn't _always_ cut it (well, that one Piper actually had to help with, but you get the gist). Percy'd also gotten into the habit of doing a quick headcount, silently making sure everyone was okay after a fight. In short, it was like having a big brother. A big brother who had water powers and an obsession with blue food, but it was nice.

But _now_…

"Really," Hazel insisted because, yeah, there was a chance her neck was going to bruise, but all in all she wasn't bad.

But now—ever since taking a stroll through hell along with his girlfriend with nothing but a sword and firewater—Percy was either more reserved and detached than what everyone deemed "normal" for the son of Poseidon, or a full-on mother hen. Seriously, no in between.

So in the end, because he completely refused to just let her go without being taken care of, Hazel wound up sitting on Percy's bed, sipping nectar. In an awkward silence.

Normally, things were never uncomfortable between them. Talking or not, they were both pretty relaxed around each other, but the quiet felt heavy and Hazel just really felt the urge to make conversation.

After another moment stretched on with nothing but the sound of their breathing and Percy's foot tapping, Hazel finally spoke up. "So," she started, racking her brain for something—anything to say. "How are you?"

And yes, Hazel was aware of just how dumb it sounded, because _clearly _Percy wasn't doing so great. But she just couldn't find any other words to say. _So. How was hell? _and _Was it hot down there?_ didn't seem like a good way to kick off the conversation. Plus, after seeing him get frustrated with Jason, Piper, and Frank, trying to comfort him was completely out of the question. Even asking how the son of Poseidon was doing was kind of pushing it.

Percy laughed but unlike it's usually mirth, it sounded dry. "Pretty good."

It was a lie. A big, fat lie, and Hazel would've needed to be an idiot to miss it. Still, she knew better than to call him out on it. Instead, she nodded. A slow, hesitant nod, and she didn't _really_ mean anything by it, but Percy caught it anyways.

He put a hand on her shoulder and _smiled_. A real, genuine one that made his eyes crinkle softly, and she grinned right back at him. "I've got this, Hazel," he told her.

Her smile totally didn't just slip off her face right then.

* * *

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**Next up: Leo and Annabeth.**

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	3. Leo and Annabeth

**Leo**

It just wasn't even a win or lose situation to begin with (and for once, Leo wasn't talking about his own life).

There were a total of two options for him to take. Either he acted all cuddly and huggy towards the son of Poseidon like everyone else on the cursed (but still awesome) ship, or Leo just left Percy alone like the guy so clearly wanted.

And you know, for just two options there were a lot of downsides.

For one, Leo was pretty sure that if he even thought about helping Percy, the guy would just kind of fall overboard and _swim_ all the way to Greece so he didn't have to put up with the rest of the Seven's smothering.

Two, Leo wasn't so sure he was even on Percy's good list in the first place. Blowing up New Rome, pretty much condemning him and his girlfriend to Tartarus; not exactly the best way to make friends, you know? After all the times he'd screwed up, Leo didn't really know if he even had the right to be worried about Percy.

Then of course, if he just acted normal, everyone else would probably think he was just being an insensitive jerk who didn't have a soul (a slight exaggeration, but you get the idea). And yeah, Leo wasn't really the type to have a heart-to-heart with. Feelings and serious talks? Anyone else on board could handle that, but not him.

There were six go-to people available. Jason and Percy were there for moral support and pep talks, Piper was there for advice, Hazel was always willing to listen, Frank…well, the big guy didn't have much going for him, but you know, second opinions were always good, and Annabeth always had some handy, logical information for you (even if she was super blunt about it). If Percy needed a mental bandaid, he could go to one of them. Otherwise, Leo didn't see any reason to pry.

Nah, he was more into prank wars, food contests, practical jokes—that kind of stuff. Leo didn't do emotional or thoughtful, nope. Percy would be just fine with or without Leo's oh-so-desired "help." Psh, just give the boy some blue food, and he'd be happy.

He didn't need a Psychiatrist Leo or anything—totally not. No, Percy didn't need anyone. Especially not him. Leo ruined everything he touched anyways.

At least, that was part of the reason Leo settled with avoiding the son of Poseidon like the plague (or Khione, whichever one would work). Not that he didn't really think that way—if you asked him, Percy was going to be just fine and so, yeah, Leo really didn't need to give him any motivational speeches about life or some deep metaphor about moving on.

_Plus_, Leo idly twirled the moonlace between his fingers, _he wasn't so sure if bringing up Calypso would be like pouring salt into an open wound or not._

So, Leo did what he thought was best and left the son of Poseidon alone. He didn't bother him. He gave him space, spoke when spoken to, and it was all right. Not exactly fun or enjoyable but okay.

Until Percy finally caught onto what he was doing anyways. Leo didn't know what tipped him off. Maybe it was the fact that when Percy put peanut butter inside all of his socks (which was so lame by the way), Leo didn't prank him back, or maybe it was when Percy and Festus got into an argument (don't even ask) and Leo just kept his head down and kept walking. Either way, that was how Leo found himself in the kitchen, like a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck.

Percy cursed, squinting against the sudden light.

In hindsight, he probably should've remembered that Percy Jackson was like a Zeus-freaking bat and liked to eat and drink in the dark sometimes, but hey, it was 2:00 AM and Leo had a cold—and gods, all he wanted were cookies. He wasn't expecting to find Percy sitting alone at the table chugging milk straight from the jug (which Leo totally didn't appreciate—after all, _he_ liked to drink straight too sometimes).

Leo's mouth made an _o_ shape, and he hesitated in the doorway. "Oh," he said, a little numb, "I didn't, ah"—he wavered—"I'll just, um…go, I guess."

Leo started to back away, but Percy waved him off. "Nah, its fine."

"You sure? I mean, I just came down to check on everything." He did a quick glance over the room, not meeting Percy's eyes. "Huh, look at that. It's all good, so I'll just head back to my roo—"

Percy raised a pointed eyebrow at him. "You don't have to keep avoiding me, you know," he said, taking a swig from the jug again. "I mean, I get that all of you are trying to…help and stuff, but—"

The moonlace in his fist suddenly seemed to get heavier, and he couldn't stop himself from speaking (not that he ever could). "Oh, that's not why I was avoiding you," Leo blurted, not meeting his eyes quite yet.

It took a couple seconds for Percy to respond and even then, it was too soon. "But then—"

Leo laughed but it sounded a little watery even to him. "Dude," he said easily, "I'm not like all the others. I know you and Annabeth; you guys wouldn't _let_ Tartarus break you…. No, it's not that, it's just…" He faltered and stopped tapping his fingers.

"Just what?" Percy prompted.

This time, Leo didn't say anything, he just opened up his palm and let the moonlace do the talking.

Percy's breath hitched. "Oh," he said quietly, shoulders dropping in realization. "That's—" He inhaled shakily and leaned back into his chair, making it creak a little. "You met her."

Leo hesitantly looked up at him and swallowed down the lump in his throat. "You know," he started, "you _can _talk about it. I mean, giving out love advice isn't really my shtick and, uh, I'm pretty sure this kind of stuff is, like, reserved for girl slumber parties, but I mean, if you _need _to…"

Percy stood up like he'd been electrocuted, and something in his face changed. "Nah, it's fine," he said stiffly.

"Hey, man, look, I don't mind my manliness points dropping a couple digits if it'll help—"

"Leo," Percy stopped, an unreadable emotion brewing in his sea colored eyes, "thanks and all, but really. I'm good. I've got this."

_I've got this._ Over the past few days, Leo had heard those words come out of Percy's mouth more times than he could count, and honestly? He was starting to get a little worried.

He got that Percy wouldn't want to be babied; he was the leader of Camp Half-Blood. The golden boy of Olympus (or you know, the upstart but hey, either way they won the Titan War). And yeah, it'd been what? A few years since Percy saw Calypso and after seeing how happy he and Annabeth were together (when they weren't almost dying, of course), it was a pretty safe guess that the guy had gotten over her. But _still_, as far Leo knew, Percy had never actually gotten his feelings out to anyone.

The only person he'd ever told was Annabeth, and yeah, some people might say that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but Leo was fairly sure that Percy was smart enough to not tell his ever so _slightly_ possessive girlfriend how Calypso felt about him.

How he felt about _her_.

Percy Jackson wasn't the type to need his sparring buddy to take it easy on him. He wasn't the type to need an assistant or a fourteen year-old therapist, and he _definitely_ wasn't the type to need a meat shield (even if said meat shield could transform into a 600-pound grizzly bear).

Leo could respect that. He and Annabeth were tough and by next week, they'd probably treat Tartarus like it was just another monster, (like, _Huh? Oh, Tartarus? Psh, just like sailing through the sea of monsters again. No_ _biggie, you know?_),but after tonight…well, Leo was starting to realize that Percy just didn't want help _period_.

Watching the older boy walk away through sad eyes, he couldn't help but mumble to himself, "But why do I get the feeling you're lying every time you say that?"

* * *

**Annabeth**

Never let it be said that Annabeth didn't care about him.

To all the skeptics and her mom and that half of the Aphrodite cabin that wanted Rachel and Percy to get together instead, well, they could all just keep their opinions to themselves. Annabeth had searched and searched for Percy for eight months without even taking a break.

She'd built a warship to take him home. She'd sailed into unfriendly territory. She'd traveled across the country with three other demigods (one of which could spontaneously combust and another who could literally talk her into doing anything) and a satyr with violent tendencies. She'd risked everything for him, and most of all, she even put up with his eating habits (which Thalia commended her for)—don't you dare tell her she didn't care about her boyfriend.

Yeah, they didn't hit it off too well (so maybe telling him he drooled in his sleep wasn't a very nice thing to do), they definitely had their differences and _adorable_ (a.k.a. infuriating) little quirks, and they still argued every now and then (or you know, all the time). But that was _why_ Annabeth cared about him so much.

Their relationship was like playing with a nuclear reactor; Percy completely made the Athena part of her go insane, and she knew she drove him off the edge too sometimes, but hey, not all relationships were full of rainbows and kisses in the rain and prancing through meadows (thank gods). No, theirs was more about borderline neurotic Olympians and wars and—oh yeah, prophecies. Freaky, rhyming _prophecies _(Annabeth loved Rachel and all, but sometimes she really wanted to gag the Oracle with duct tape and ship her to Alaska to keep her from spouting out any more poems about quests and ancient powers and their impending doom).

You'd think all of that would make it worse. Make it so that Percy would only be a reminder of everything she'd suffered through—everything she'd _lost_, and sometimes…yeah. Sometimes Annabeth would look at her boyfriend and only see scars (both physical and emotional). Sometimes she'd see the faces of old, deceased campers. And, sometimes, it'd be like looking at herself through a mirror (and Athena knows how much worse that is).

Yeah, sometimes, being with Percy hurt. It made her heart ache and eyes mist up, but it was being away from him that hurt even more (and gods, that was such an Aphrodite thing to say).

Percy was the one who motivated her to keep going. She knew that, while everyone else left—and they always did (Luke, Thalia, Silena, Beckendorf…need she continue?)—Percy would be the one by her side. And because of that, she knew him inside and out.

Which is why she never said a thing.

Annabeth knew something had changed in Percy ever since Tartarus (Hades, she knew something had changed in her as well). That little spat with Jason and Frank, the way he brushed off Piper and Hazel…anyone else would've called him a jerk. Would've said his ego was just a little too big for his head—after all, they _were_ trying to help, but then, they didn't know Percy like she did.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful. No, frankly, he couldn't be more thankful to have friends as great as the Seven. (Yeah, maybe "violence" and almost dying and a mutual hatred for Hera wasn't the best way to form a friendship, but whatever. It worked.)

Percy was pushing them away because somewhere in his seaweed brain, he thought it was best. For all of them. And maybe, in some abstract way, it was.

True: Percy was upset that Jason was going easy on him. Why? Because he hadn't wanted Jason to feel abandoned. Hadn't wanted the son of Jupiter to feel like, _oh, shoot. My so-leader's out of commission now 'cause he literally walked through hell. Guess I just have to lead the most dangerous quest of the century by myself now. Great._ No, Jason might've been praetor of New Rome and a respected leader, but even then, he couldn't take the load alone on this one. After all, in Camp Jupiter, Jason always had Reyna to lean on.

True: Percy was never really keen on the idea of Piper waiting on him. One because, yeah, it was kind of embarrassing to be treated like someone who belonged in a nursing home (personally, Annabeth thought it was funny, but obviously Percy didn't share the same sentiments).

Two, Piper was already busy as it was. She seriously didn't need the extra work. And taking on all of Percy's watches? Yeah, she might've been fine for now, but soon, the exhaustion would've crept up on her. Her reflexes would get slower, she'd become less alert to her surroundings—who knows what could've happened to her?

True: Percy got angry when Frank stepped in. First off, Percy did see her coming in his peripheral vision, and second, Frank did get hurt. Even though it wasn't a major wound (just pour some nectar on it, and he'd be good as new), Annabeth knew how hard Percy must've taken it. How much he must've blamed himself for it.

And true: Percy didn't want to share his troubles with Hazel or Leo.

Out of all Percy's little rejections, that was the most confusing one of all. The one that threw Annabeth off the most. The kind of refusal she was dealing with.

Now, she'd been through many things in her short, miserable life. She gotten her ribs broken by a Cyclops, held up the sky, gotten stabbed in the arm, not to mention a billion other wounds she'd dealt with—Annabeth knew what pain felt like. She'd been practically raised on it (in every aspect), but nothing hurt more than that.

Than all those times Annabeth would hold his hand and look into his eyes, and—and he'd practically _paste_ on this shadow of what his smile used to be. And it was so pathetic—even if she was as blind as Polyphemus, Annabeth would still be able to see the tiredness beneath his fake-as-Hera's-compassion smile. Could make out that dimness, like Percy was holding up the sky again and it was crushing him, shattering his bones, but still kept holding it up anyways because…what else could he do?

Annabeth would breath out slowly, not taking her gaze off his sea green eyes for a millisecond, and would quote bitterly in her mind, _Yeah. You've got it, Seaweed Brain_.

Then, she would squeeze his hand just a little tighter.

_But I'll always be right here, Jackson, don't forget that._ She shut her eyes, basking in the sun. _No matter how bad you fall, and I think we both know that's coming soon._

It might not have been what Annabeth wanted or what she needed, but she knew Percy better than anyone else on board. Knew him better than she even knew herself sometimes. It wasn't ideal. It wasn't what she would've done if it were anyone else in any other scenario, but this was Percy Jackson. And he'd just been through Tartarus.

For now, the only thing Annabeth could do was wait and prepare for the fallout, praying that she wouldn't be too late to pick up the pieces.

(No. She might not have confronted her boyfriend like she should've, but she gave him what _he _needed. Never let it be said that Annabeth Chase didn't care about her boyfriend.)

* * *

**This chapter frustrated me. I feel like I wasn't able to capture their emotions as much as I wanted to and in the right way, but this was as close as I could get.**


	4. Percy

**Sorry for the long wait, I know it's an overused excuse, but I've just been really busy lately. I hope this chapter is worth the delay and meets your expectations.**

* * *

_**Percy**_

Percy never wanted to be a half-blood.

That was pretty much the one thing puberty hadn't changed about him. Being a demigod? Not exactly high on his wish list of what he wanted in life. Especially 'cause, you know, it sort of interfered with his greatest wish of all: to live (not even live happily ever after, but just…live), but whatever.

Being a half-blood wasn't quote on quote fun. It's scary and dangerous and violent and there's always a strong possibility of getting your face ripped off in your sleep (not a pretty picture) and, unless you happened to be ridiculously lucky—and seriously, who was?—you would never fit into the mortal world. Not really at least.

Sure, for the most part, everyone stayed at Camp, the one place on earth where it was safe for people like them (other than, you know, New Rome, but then again, they put troublemakers into sacks with a bunch of angry weasels and threw them into the Little Tiber), but when it wasn't camp? There was always the option of being a year-rounder. After all, no one could judge you for wanting to stay, not even the Ares cabin. Ethnicity, culture, godly parent—everyone understood, everyone saw the appeal.

Camp was safe, it was secluded, you were never alone there. No monsters creeping around the corner, no mortals silently judging you. It was where a demigod could just let go of all the stuff weighing him down and just _breathe_. To not be afraid of who they were or who their parents were. It was where they found themselves and came up with some intense Capture the Flag strategies and read Greek epics and trained and fought and prepared for the world—but it was never meant to be _home_. At least, not permanently.

For all their warm welcoming (which, considering Mr. D and Clarisse, actually kind of sucked), one thing was clear: a demigod couldn't hide behind the Camp borders for forever.

That realization had hit Percy sometime around last year. After Kronos had been defeated, and everything was stating to calm down, and he'd overheard Katie Gardner, Will Solace, and Malcolm talking about colleges they were interested in. Katie had already applied to the University of Minnesota. Will and Malcolm, well, they hadn't decided on where yet, but they both sounded pretty set on getting a degree somewhere in the medical field.

Percy was kind of taken back by that. Not that he was against the idea or anything—he thought it was great that they actually wanted to go. If anyone was responsible enough to handle themselves out there, it was those three, but at the same time…Hades. Percy'd never even thought about college.

Namely because, you know, he sort of had this tendency to get kicked out of schools a lot, and all things considered, he wasn't a hundred percent sure he'd even make it through high school alive (literally). But also because at the time, Percy didn't even think he would _live_ passed sixteen.

He might've been oblivious and Annabeth might've gotten too much pleasure out of picking on his low IQ, but he'd have to be straight-up idiotic to not figure out that, yeah, doomsday was going down and it was happening on his birthday. Now maybe if it wasn't for the ominous, rhyming poem of doom (signed yours truly, the Oracle), _maybe_ Percy could've written it off as one of those freaky coincidences.

But he couldn't.

Because, as great as supportive and wise Chiron was, and as much as he tried to shield Percy away from the Prophecy, he'd known for a while that there was a pretty big (more like ridiculously huge) chance he wasn't going to make it passed his senior year.

So, Percy figured, what the heck? He didn't really bother planning for his future after that. What was the point anyways? He wasn't expected to live too long anyways, wasn't expected to actually survive the war.

Ares had said so.

Zeus had said so.

Athena had said so (and if that didn't sound like a death warrant, Percy didn't know what did).

Hades, it felt like even the Fates had said so.

But he was Percy Jackson, the son of the sea god. And if one thing was for sure, Percy rarely did what was expected of him. Of course he survived passed August 18.

Sitting beside Annabeth, watching shroud after shroud burn, was one of the most dizzying moments of his life. It was like the whole world had finally come back into focus, finally regained its color, and Percy finally realized he still had his whole life ahead of him.

And Percy was _happy_ for the first time in what felt like forever. He had Annabeth, Camp, his mom, Paul—in that moment, he was just a normal teenager. No end of the world, no Prophecy (supposedly), no more quests.

Don't get him wrong, he still took Capture the Flag way too seriously and sparred with Annabeth for nothing but sheer enjoyment, but his life was calmer, more relaxed. And it lasted all of two months before his memories were wiped and he was plopped in the middle of another apocalypse. Only difference, it came in the form of Mother Earth (and no offense to any tree huggers out there, but he was probably never going to be able to take their campaigns seriously ever again).

Percy swallowed thickly, wiping the sweat off his brow. It made him feel sick, thinking about how quickly everything went downhill again. How _easily_ everything he and his friends had worked for—had died for—just…didn't matter. Not anymore.

And just like the last time, the gods still chose to do nothing but watch their kids run around like a bunch of headless chickens (gruesome description, but still pretty accurate). The only god who seemed to really be doing much was Hera, and that was being generous. (He knew he should be kind of grateful and all, be happy that she even bothered to interfere, but at the same time, she just really sucked at helping.)

It all happened so fast. Freeing Thanatos, defeating Polybotes, getting elected praetor, then getting put on the New Rome's MOST WANTED. Percy didn't really get much time to complain. He just sucked it up and carried on because there wasn't time for brooding or complaining. He'd almost tricked himself too. _Almost_ convinced himself that this life—running errands for the gods, saving the world, fighting monsters—this was all just temporary.

But then he fell. Farther and harder than ever before, and Percy realized, there in the birthplace of all things evil, that this _was_ his life. No escaping, no hiding, he was a half-blood, and there were no happy endings. No matter what your name was. (Perseus always felt like such a sissy name anyways.)

A slow, sickening feeling had churned in his stomach, and he'd looked at Annabeth. This was her life too. All those quests and battles, all those monsters she'd killed, it didn't make a difference in the long run. She was still a demigod, and she'd still been dragged down into Tartarus.

That weight of acceptance bore down on him again just like when he was fifteen, and he read the Prophecy for himself for the first time. One way or the other, he knew he was going to die, and it wasn't going to be a natural death.

But still, he thought, squeezing Annabeth hand just a little tighter, that didn't mean he anyone else had to. Not Annabeth, not the Seven, not _either_ of the Camps—not even Nico if the kid would just let him help. Percy was in this war, no doubt about it, but now, he was fighting for _their_ survival (screw the gods).

So when Percy failed, when Bob sacrificed himself to save _them_ and not the other way around, he decided then and there that nothing was going to happen to any of the Seven. Not if he could help it.

So maybe putting Jason on the spot wasn't really fair to him. Jason had always been kind of aware and protective of everyone else (freaking praetor), but Percy didn't realize that it also applied to him until they sparred (if you could even call it that). When it came to each other, they kind of threw all the rules out the window and just went for it. They had faith that the other would be able to block in time. Probably.

Percy never went easy on Jason, and vice versa. So when Percy realized what the younger boy was doing, he was kind of ticked. At first, he thought Jason was just trying out a new strategy, maybe trying to trick him into getting too comfortable, but when Percy saw the way his arms shook and how bad he was panting, he realized his mistake. Jason couldn't trust him.

Not the kind of doubt like he didn't know if Percy would betray him or not, but the kind of mistrust where he wasn't sure if Percy could even hold his own, could even have his back in a fight. That stung.

And then there was Piper. She was pretty much that one overly supportive friend that was always there for him, but Percy wanted to be left alone. Needed to be. Because as helpful as she was, Percy couldn't bear it if she caught him in a moment of weakness. He and Annabeth might've made it out alive, but that didn't mean he didn't have his own demons to fight.

They'd come in the forms of Bob, Damasen, Beckendorf, Zoë Nightshade, Ethan Nakamura…Nico. All the people Percy'd ever let down or forgotten or hadn't been thankful to. He'd been dreaming of Bianca, when Hazel woke him up.

He swore on the Styx he hadn't meant to hurt her. When he came to and realized what he was doing, he felt guiltier than ever before. (Great, Jackson, let one child of Hades die, then strangle the other two. Awesome.)

Percy felt so bad he almost told her what had been on his mind. He'd seen the curious glances she'd toss his way when she thought he wasn't looking. But he when he opened his mouth, the only words that came out were: "Pretty good" and "I've got this, Hazel." (When they looked into each other's eyes after that, they both knew crystal clear it was a lie.)

Next on the "let's all help Percy because he just got out of Tartarus and is therefore is crippled" campaign was Leo. Hades, the guy was even worse than Nico. He would tiptoe around Percy like he was a bomb ready to detonate any second now, and okay, yeah, it was actually really annoying.

Out of all the Seven, Percy would never have expected Leo to pull that card. Not on him. He would've thought Leo to be the only one to not treat him or Annabeth any different. Gods, Leo didn't even react to Percy's prank or joke around with him anymore. It was sad, coming back and seeing how much he'd changed and how quickly too. (Admittedly, they all had, but come on, it was _Leo_.)

When Percy finally realized why the younger boy was avoiding him, it made it a hundred times worse. Calypso. Another person whose life he'd completely screwed up. Percy didn't know how Leo had found Ogygia or when, and he didn't completely care at the moment. All that had mattered was the tiny, withered moonlace sitting in his palm.

Percy could've choked on the guilt. Shame of forgetting her, of breaking her heart, of being like all the others…shame of not being around so Leo didn't have to face the same guilt he did. Percy knew he would give it his best shot and at least try to get Calypso back (which was more than Percy ever did), but it wouldn't work. No man could ever find her island twice (not even a son of Poseidon). And in the end, Leo would only be another heartbreak, and unlike Percy, he'd never forget or forgive.

Percy swallowed down the bile and repeated, once again, _I've got this_.

Now Frank was just a complete idiot, and even thinking about what the big guy had tried to do made Percy's skin crawl and his stomach churn. And yeah, he appreciated the gesture—he honestly did, but did _not_ want Frank stepping into the line of fire. Even if it had potentially saved him because Percy. Had. It. And Frank should never have been hurt.

They were all his responsibility. He was the "oh-so-great" hero of Olympus, and yet he couldn't even protect six other demigods.

Percy balled his hands into fists and swung his legs over the bed. So much for sleep, he thought, snatching Riptide from his nightstand. Insomnia was kind of becoming the new thing for him (to whatever deity was in charge of sleep, what in Hades had he ever done to you?), and everyone hated it, including him.

Still, he thought, raking a hand through his hair, at least it gave him the opportunity to keep watch (and really, he was the only even remotely happy with that).

When Jason noticed him, taking in his wrinkled clothes and bare feet, he wrinkled his forehead in apprehension (funny, the other Grace would've just teased him about his Finding Nemo pajamas).

"This is my shift," Jason pointed out bluntly, either too tired or too bored to come up with anything subtler.

Percy shrugged, flipping Riptide around. "Couldn't sleep," he told him, "figured I might as well take watch."

Jason mouth pressed into a thin line, like he was trying not to frown. Even before the fall, Percy'd always had trouble letting anyone else keep watch, so the blond was more than accustomed to this happening. (Annabeth had thought it was his fatal flaw, but personally, he didn't see the connection.) But it didn't make it any better.

"You sure?" Jason asked, doubtful but having been through this conversation enough times to know exactly where it was headed. He studied the older boy's face. "Yeah, you're sure."

He softly padded passed Percy. "It's Piper's shift next," he said quietly. "Just—let her do her job and get some sleep, all right?"

He didn't even wait for a response, he kind of figured the chances for Percy listening to him (or actually doing anything beneficial for his own health) were slim. It always seemed like that nowadays.

Percy silently walked across the deck and hopped up onto the ship's rail, legs dangling over the ocean. For anyone else it might not have been a smart idea. Leo had this "cute" little habit of sneaking up behind people and shoving them in, laughing like a freaking goblin while they tried to, you know, not drown (Frank still hadn't let that one go), but for Percy, well, he could do pretty much anything now, and they wouldn't bother him, wouldn't do _anything_ to jeopardize his health.

Percy snorted. Gods, they all made his mom look—

His eyes shot open and a gloomy feeling enveloped him. His mom. Hades, he hadn't—hadn't even thought…. How long had it been since he'd seen her? Talked to her?

A guilty lump rose in his throat. Yes, he'd thought about her, but he'd never… After Alaska, he'd never even tried contacting her again. Chiron had probably been doing his best to keep her updated (which Percy was eternally grateful for), but well, it wasn't the same as actually hearing from him, knowing first-hand that her baby-boy was okay.

Beneath him, the sea sprayed and splashed as the Argo sailed forward, little droplets dancing in the morning light, forming a rainbow. Percy swallowed thickly. Of all the people in the world, he decided, his mom deserved to know what was happening.

Before he knew it, he was hurling a drachma into his little DIY rainbow, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he said, "O Fleecy, do me a solid. Show me Sally Jackson."

Almost instantly, the rainbow shimmered, colors mixing and swirling, and Percy was looking at his mom's sleeping form. Percy shut his eyes and groaned. With the time difference, it was probably around one in the morning in the US, of course she wouldn't be awake. No sane person was.

"_Vlacas_," he muttered. Percy eyed the I-M, debating whether to wake her up or just try again later. The latter made his heart sink. The chances of there being a later—when there weren't any monster attacks and when one of them wasn't nearly collapsing from exhaustion—were a million to one.

He studied his mom's face, drinking in the familiarity of it, remembering how she always, always made him feel better by just _being_ there. Percy's gaze dropped. A part of him wanted to just wake her up anyways, but even in the dark of her bedroom he could still make out the dark circles beneath her eyes.

He smiled a little mournfully, raising his hand to swipe through the image. "Love you, Mom."

A groggy voice stopped him from disconnecting the message. "Percy?"

The son of Poseidon blinked, gaze snapping up instantly.

Paul struggled out of bed and blinked at the I-M, slowing dropping to his knees in front of it. "Percy," he breathed, more sure of himself this time, voice a mixture of both wonder and relief.

"Hey, Paul," Percy managed, feeling his vision get a little foggy. He blinked away the tears and told himself not to cry because—gods—he didn't need any more evidence to know that he was pitiful.

Paul started to get up. "I'll wake up Sally—"

"No," Percy blurted, even though it sort of hurt to say that. "No, it's okay. Let her sleep."

Paul looked doubtful, and he gave Percy a look like,_ You know she wouldn't care if she gets a little sleep-deprived, right? You know all she wants to do is make sure you're okay, don't you?_ But he must've gleaned something from Percy's expression because he slowly settled back down onto the floor.

"Thanks," he said thickly, not knowing why all the sudden he feels so vulnerable and tired and _pitiful_.

For a while, they only look at each other. Paul trying to assure himself that, yes, his stepson's okay, while Percy just stares, trying to keep himself together.

He'd always thought Paul had a sixth sense for knowing when something was off. Maybe it came from being a teacher or maybe it was just something he was born with, but either way, Paul, for all the effort Percy put into keeping his face calm and casual, saw right through his stepson.

"Percy," he started, eyes growing concerned but knowing, "something on your mind?"

You'd think it'd take more than that. More than just five simple words to get Percy to open up, but it worked. It could've been the way Paul had said it so casually, like he was trying not to make such a huge deal out of it (even though it kind of was), but Percy didn't dwell on it too much.

Nah, he was too busy spilling words out of his mouth, confessing how he'd forgotten everyone who'd ever helped him, how he just wanted to keep everyone safe, how he was absolutely failing at that last one, how…how his loyalty had gotten so bad he could barely trust them to take care of themselves.

When he'd finished, Paul said nothing for a while, just watching his stepson's face while Percy tossed another drachma into the rainbow for an extra five minutes.

Finally, Paul let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and looked down at his clasped hands. He rubbed bridge of his nose and furrowed his brow, carefully picking his next words. "Ever thought that maybe you should trust Hera?"

Percy choked on his own spit. Of all the things he'd thought Paul was going to say, that wasn't exactly on the list. He'd expected him to maybe give him some speech about how it was all right (which it wasn't), how he understood (which he couldn't), how Percy was taking the best option available (which he almost definitely wasn't).

The son of Poseidon sputtered for a moment, and his stepdad watched him patiently. "What, why—Paul!"

The English teacher raised his hands in a peace gesture. "Just hear me out," he coaxed.

Percy's shoulders drooped, but he gestured for him to continue anyways.

"Hera…" Paul gave out a short, unamused laugh. "Don't get me wrong, Percy, she sounds like a piece of work."

Percy thought that was being a little too generous. After all, she spent her past-time disguising herself as a hobo waiting for some poor soul to carry her across a river.

"But at the same time," Paul said gently, like he wasn't trying to pop Percy's bubble, "she chose seven of you for a reason. So none of you would have to bear the burden alone."

Like a broken record, the words slipped out before Percy could stop them. "I've got this."

Paul tilted his head as though asking a silent question like, _Do you really_? It wasn't mocking or insulting, just a plain and simple statement, and Percy's mouth snapped shut.

His stepdad smile sadly, like he was remembering just how old Percy really was for his age. "You might have it all together, Percy. You might be able to carry everyone's burden for them while you struggle under yours"—Percy opened his mouth to argue—"but you don't _need_ to." His mouth snapped shut, and Paul smiled a little.

"And… And what if one of them gets hurt or killed just because I couldn't save them?" he asked hoarsely. _Like always_.

"They won't," Paul said, and Percy wondered how he could be so sure. "You watch each other's backs and no one will get hurt. You were all hand-picked to make the best team, weren't you?"

And for once, Percy didn't have an answer for him. When the I-M started to fade, he realized he might not have to. He patted himself down, frantically searching for another drachma only to come up empty-handed. (In hindsight, it probably wasn't the best idea to play poker with Leo and Piper.)

Paul blinked in confusion. "Percy, what's happening?"

"The connection," he explained, "we've run out of time. I'm, uh, kind of broke."

Paul smiled in amusement 'cause, yeah, that was a shocker, but his face quickly turned serious. "I might not be as wise as Chiron," he said quickly, trying to get his last words out before the connection was cut. "But I think I'm pretty accurate when I say this—this constant fighting and saving the world and running—this isn't your life. Not completely. Me, your mother, Annabeth, we're here too." A smile tugged at his lips. "And, if you'd just let them help you, I think you'd find that the rest of the Seven are there for you as well."

The I-M faded before Percy could answer, and he was left staring his little rainbow in a daze, soaking in his stepdad's words. And you know, for a mortal who'd just recently been introduced to the highly dangerous world of a demigod, Paul was pretty dang smart.

And deep down, Percy also knew he was right.

(He never needed to say the words "I've got this" ever again.)


End file.
